


A Different Kind of Win

by twobirdsonesong



Category: CrissColfer - Fandom, Glee RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drabble, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Running
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-18 00:11:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3548819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twobirdsonesong/pseuds/twobirdsonesong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris laughs like he can’t help it and Darren grins brightly.  “It’s not broken,” Chris says.  “Just sprained.  I, uh, I tripped over my dog’s leash a couple days ago.”</p><p>“You have a dog?” Darren asks, suddenly picturing Chris in the early mornings in a baggy sweatshirt with a cup of coffee taking his dog for a walk.  He likes it.</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“I love dogs.”</p><p>The look Chris gives him in indecipherable, but Darren will take it.  He knows enough to know that he won’t be leaving this race without Chris’ phone number, or Chris himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Different Kind of Win

**Author's Note:**

> The initial idea was taken from codenamecynic's [Tumblr post of AU ideas](http://codenamecynic.tumblr.com/post/101963935827/more-au-ideas-that-the-internet-doesnt-need-part-4): "Both are the last runners in a marathon but determined to at least best eachother AU"

Darren hates running.  He hated it in school and he hates it now.  And he really hates running long distances.  He’s just not built for them – short bursts of speed, sure, but not mile after mile of his feet hitting the hard pavement, jarring his bones and searing his lungs. So this half marathon he’s found himself racing in is its own unique kind of hell.

  
Racing isn’t exactly the word Darren would use to describe the last two hours of his life.  He’d kept a decent pace with the majority of the non-elite pack for the first few miles. He’s in good shape, he works out, he even sometimes eats well, but as the minutes ticked by and his breathing got increasingly labored as his muscles started burning, he fell farther behind the other runners.

 

And now he knows he’s last.  Dead last. And almost completely alone on the road.

 

He briefly thinks about giving up as his side pangs with another sharp ache on his next breath, of just stepping over to the side and collapsing in an ignominious heap amongst the last of the people cheering the runners on. But the mile markers tell him he’s too close to the finish line to give up now.  It’d be more embarrassing to his ego and his pride to give up with just a mile or so to go than to come in last, although his friends are never, ever going to let him forget that he came in last.

 

Blinking sweat from his eyes, Darren looks up from the pavement and scans the road ahead of him.  There’s another guy a hundred or so yards up, pushing through the end of the race with a heavy brace wrapped tightly around his ankle.  His gait is slow and labored as he obviously favors his right side, but his legs are strong and fit and Darren is pretty sure that unlike him, this guy is actually a runner whose body is meant to do ungodly things like run a half-marathon.

 

Gritting his teeth against the protesting ache in his own legs, Darren surges forward to catch up with the other guy.

 

Closer, Darren can see the flush in this guy’s ears and cheeks that travels all the way down his neck and chest.  He’s wearing a tight black tank top, but Darren can see darker patches of sweat under his arms and at his chest.

 

“Hi,” Darren pants, when he finally comes up beside the guy.

 

The other runner is taller than him with longer legs and Darren has to push to keep up, even though he knows they’re both going traitorously slow.

 

“Uh, hi,” the guy responds.  His voice is tight and clipped and Darren doesn’t know if it’s because he’s exhausted or because of his ankle.  Or both.

 

“I’m Darren.”

 

The guy spares him a glance and his eyes are a grey-blue under the overcast sky. “Chris.”

 

“I’m not really a runner,” Darren says, as conversationally as he can, even though every word is a struggle. “Obviously.”

 

Chris glances at him again, but doesn’t make a move to speed up to get away from him. “Ok?”

 

Darren swallows around his dry throat.  He really should have grabbed one of those little cups of water from the side before he tried to talk to this guy.  But now that he’s right next to Chris, Darren can see the stubble under his jaw where he missed shaving and the freckles on his bared shoulders and the way sweat is making his hair cling to his forehead and suddenly Darren doesn’t really care about the water at all.

 

“I lost a bet.” Darren hopes his grin is more roughish and less pained than it feels. “S’why I’m here.”

 

Chris’ eyebrow lifts. “Really.”

 

“Yep.”

 

There’s a moment of silence, punctuated by their heavy breathing and Darren tries not to worry that his legs will never be the same after this.

 

“Dare I ask what the terms were?” Chris finally says.

 

Daren shakes his head.  “Oh no. That’s a story for another time.” He doesn’t mean for it to sound flirty, but it does, because this guy is cute and tall and quite literally not running away from him.

 

“You have nice form,” Darren says, going for it.  “Running, I mean.”

 

Chris snorts indelicately.  “Smooth.”

 

Darren grins happily even though his chest his burning.  The end of this godforsaken race has to be coming up. “So why are you doing this?” He asks.

 

“I like to run,” Chris answers and Darren watches as he wipes more sweat from his forehead.

 

“Really.” Darren says dryly. He doesn’t exactly trust people who claim to love to run, just like people who claim kale is satisfying.

 

“Yes,” Chris grits out.

 

“But you’re obviously injured,” Darren says, casting a significant look down at Chris’ ankle.  He can’t imagine how much that hurts.  His own ankles are killing him and he hasn’t recently done anything to them.

 

“A fact that has not escaped me, thank you.”

 

“What happened?”

 

The man looks pained for reasons beyond his wrapped up ankle.  “I tripped,” he says.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“That’s it?” Darren cocks his head.

 

“Does there have to be a bigger story?”

 

“I mean, if I was running in a half-marathon on a broken ankle I’d tell people it happened because I was rescuing the last unicorn on the planet from a burning building or something.”

 

A smile quirks at the man’s mouth.  “What would the last unicorn on the planet be doing in a building?”

 

“Her taxes, obviously.”

 

Chris laughs like he can’t help it and Darren grins brightly.  “It’s not broken,” Chris says.  “Just sprained.  I, uh, I tripped over my dog’s leash a couple days ago.”

 

“You have a dog?” Darren asks, suddenly picturing Chris in the early mornings in a baggy sweatshirt with a cup of coffee taking his dog for a walk. He likes it.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I _love_ dogs.”

 

The look Chris gives him in indecipherable, but Darren will take it.  He knows enough to know that he won’t be leaving this race without Chris’ phone number, or Chris himself.

 

“Then why are you still running this?”

 

Chris shrugs.  “Because I promised myself I would.”

 

The finish line is suddenly up ahead of them, closer than Darren expected it would be. There are larger crowds gathered now, maybe just to watch the last two sad stragglers finally finish this damn thing.

 

“I don’t want to be last,” Darren says.  His legs hurt, his chest aches, his throat feels raw and he just wants it over.

 

Chris presses his lips together, squinting towards that finish line. “Neither do I.”

 

“Together?” Darren looks over at Chris, Chris who is basically a stranger to him, but doesn’t feel like one.

 

“Together,” Chris agrees, nodding.

 

The last hundred yards are taken without words as Darren keeps pace with Chris to cross the finish line side by side.

  
Darren slows to a walk and then comes to a stop, gasping for breath with his hands on his hips as he tries to keep himself from collapsing right then and there.  Chris has stopped next to him, chest heaving with exertion as he stands with his weight on his good foot and wipes sweat from his eyes. Volunteers bring them bottles of water and towels and Darren watches Chris’ throat work as he drinks, and even though Darren is so exhausted he can’t feel his hands, his stomach tightens in anticipation.

 

“So, Chris.”

 

“So, Darren.”

 

“Can I interest you in some post-half-marathon food?  Maybe an ice pack?”  Darren wets his lips and takes a step closer.  “Maybe back at my place?”

 

Chris blinks and then chuckles, shaking his head and his cheeks are red for reasons beyond the run.  “You are _so_ smooth.”

 

Darren grins brightly. “Is that a yes?”

 

Chris takes a deep breath.  “Yeah, it is.”

 

As they hobble away from the race, shoulders bumping and cheeks blushing, Darren is pretty sure he came in first after all.


End file.
